Shadows of a Shattered Life
by paperstorm
Summary: Dean's really, really happy to have his Sammy back. A coda for Like A Virgin, 6x12. Wincest.


**Gasp! A tag for the episode that just aired? What a fresh, original idea, Andie! I bet no one else will have thought of that! …I know. Quiet, you! I couldn't help it. The hug, man. It did things to me. Naughty things.**

**The title is from the song Revolution by Trading Yesterday because … well, because I suck at titles and that was the song I happened to be listening to when I was trying to think of one. (facepalm)**

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"So."

They're alone, finally. Bobby left, Dean doesn't know exactly where he went. Probably just wanted to get out of the house. He's having a hard time being around Sam, which, okay, Sam did try to slit his throat, so Dean gets it. And the whole mother-of-all, instruction-manual-made-of-skin thing is all kinds of disturbing, so Dean can't exactly blame the man for needing a breather. Besides, it's what he's been wanting all day, right? To be alone with Sam in a room containing a bed? So, now that he has it, why does he have absolutely no idea what to say?

"So," Sam agrees, nodding his head.

Dean huffs a laugh. "I'm not sure. This is …"

"Awkward?" Sam supplies, smiling wryly.

"A little. Sorry."

"S'okay." Sam shrugs. "It's – I mean, for me it's like I saw you yesterday. The graveyard, and Adam and everything, that all feels like it just happened. But I know it's been a long time for you. So it's okay, if it's awkward for a while."

"I'm just not sure where to go from here, you know?" Dean sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.

"Well, first of all, we didn't really get to say hello properly, did we?" Sam says matter-of-factly, with just a hint of a smirk in his voice. "Bobby being in the room, and all."

Dean's eyes snap open in surprise. "You – you still …"

"Yeah, 'course I do." Sam's eyes narrow in confusion. "Why? Don't you? I mean, I know things with Lisa were …"

"No, it's – Sam, the thing with Lisa was – " Dean pauses and takes a deep breath. "I did that because you wanted me to. And she's great, but it wasn't the same as what I had with you. Not even close."

"Oh." Sam nods again. "That's, good? I guess? I mean, it's not good that you were unhappy, but – "

"I know what you meant."

Sam smiles a little, and then holds out his hand. Dean laughs at the cheesy move, but takes Sam's hand anyway and lets his brother pull him in. Sam works his hands around Dean's back and then hooks his fingers together, keeping Dean pressed close to his chest.

"So. Hi," Sam says softly.

"Hi Sammy." Dean leans up to peck a kiss to Sam's lips. "Missed you."

"Yeah. I – well, I don't actually remember missing you. But I'm sure I did." Sam grins sheepishly. "You know, as much as I could, anyway. Without … without a soul. Shit, that still sounds weird."

"It _was_ weird, man," Dean mutters. "I don't think I ever really got used to it."

Sam's eyes go soft and thoughtful for a minute, and then he heaves a sigh and pulls away from Dean like an ashamed puppy. It's heartbreaking and stupidly adorable all at the same time.

"Sam, c'mon. You don't need to feel bad about this, it was never your fault." Dean reaches out and brushes his knuckles against Sam's shoulder. "Crowley did this, not you. He brought you back up and he left your soul behind so he'd have leverage, so he could use us."

"Crowley wasn't the one who did all that stuff, though, was he."

Sam's voice is small and Dean hates it.

"It doesn't matter," Dean insists. He really wants to be touching Sam again, but he has a feeling Sam wouldn't let him right now. "It's over now, we got you back. So none of it matters."

"Cas said I tried to kill Bobby," Sam says, louder now, upset. "He, god, he said I let you get turned into a vampire! I don't – I mean, how am I supposed to just let that go?"

"Because it wasn't you!"

"It _was_ me, Dean! I mean, maybe it wasn't _all_ me, but it was still me!"

"Look, you … Sam, I need you to listen to me, and I need you to really hear me, okay?" Dean says firmly, waiting for Sam to nod before he continues. "We needed to get in that vampire nest for information, and you let me get turned because you knew there was a cure. Your logical side made you think it was okay because your heart wasn't there to tell you it was wrong. Without your soul you were just a brain. A _hunter's_ brain. I understand that."

"I – shit, I don't even _remember_ it and I feel terrible about it!" Sam cries, on the edge of tears again. "How could I do that to you?"

"It's okay, Sammy, I swear. I mean, yeah, it sucked at the time. But I understand. I always did."

Alright, so maybe that last part isn't entirely true, but Dean's more than willing to pretend it is, for Sam's sake. He touches Sam's arm again, rubbing a little before letting his arm drop. Dean wants more than anything to just wrap Sam up and take him over to that bed and lose himself in warm skin and hard muscle and stupid, floppy hair. It's been way too long since he's been allowed to touch Sam like he could right now. But Sam's clearly not going to let this go. Not yet, anyway.

"What else?" he asks quietly.

"What else what?"

"What else did I do?"

"Sam, c'mon," Dean groans. "What's the point of this?"

"Please. Dean, _please_. I need to know, man. I just do."

_Fuck_. There's the look. The 'please help me, big brother' look that Dean's been completely powerless to since the day Sam was born.

"You – you didn't do anything," he sighs. "It was just … how you were. How you acted."

"Okay. How did I act?"

"Like … you know, you were, god, you were like the opposite of Sam. You were cold and blunt, and rude to victims, you …" Dean shakes his head and laughs a little. "You told this sweet little old lady that it looked like Sedona, Arizona had crapped all over her house. That one was funny, actually."

Sam blinks. "What does that even mean?"

"It – kind of a long story, never mind." Dean laughs again and then barrels on. "You, I don't know, man, you had a douchey car, and you loved hunting and booze and casual sex and – fuck, you were _me_, basically. Or, me at twenty-four anyway."

There's a look on Sam's face now that's a mix of shock and disgust. "I … who did I have sex with? Oh god, please tell me I didn't force myself on you."

"What? No, of course you didn't," Dean says quickly. "You – I don't know her name. Shit, you probably didn't either. And that's only, I mean, that's the one I walked in on. I'm assuming there were more."

Dean watches apprehensively as all the color drains out of Sam's face.

"You walked in on – oh man. Shit, I'm sorry. That must've … hurt."

Dean sighs and shrugs. "It was, I don't know, instinct, I guess. You're a healthy, twenty-seven year old guy. You see a pretty girl, you want to, you know? Wasn't exactly a good moment for me, but I understood."

Sam's eyebrows tilt up in the middle and his forehead scrunches into that sad look Dean knows so well. Except he hasn't seen in it, shit, in a year and a half.

"Did I even try? I mean, with you?" he asks quietly.

"No. It was like you didn't remember that we had ever been, well, anything."

"Fuck," Sam mumbles, his eyes flickering closed. "I'm – "

"Don't," Dean cuts in. "Don't say you're sorry again. I know you are. And for the last time, you don't need to be. It wasn't you."

Sam makes a small noise of protest in his throat but Dean interrupts again.

"It _wasn't_. I'm gonna keep saying it until you believe me." Dean steps toward Sam and cups Sam's face in his hands. "Yeah, okay, it was your body and it was your brain, but you were missing all those things that make you Sam. I _know_ you. And that guy wasn't you."

Sam nods and leans forward to rest his forehead against Dean's, his hands finding Dean's hips and holding on. "'m still sorry."

"It's okay," Dean murmurs, brushing his thumb over Sam's cheekbone. "Look, can we just ditch the drama? Just for a while? I … god, I spent a year trying to fake it with Lisa, and almost six months with a you that wasn't you and I, just, can't. I can't anymore."

"Tell me how to make it better," Sam answers softly, sliding his arms around Dean's waist and pulling his body closer. "Anything, whatever you need."

"You. The you that's, you know, _you_. I – I need Sammy."

Dean has to resist the urge to roll his eyes at how pathetic that sounded, but it was the truth. And Sam doesn't laugh, he just leans down and kisses Dean, soft and warm and comforting, and Dean just melts into it. He wraps his arms around Sam's neck, one hand clinging to Sam's shoulders and the other tangled in Sam's hair. Damn, it's been way, _way_ too long since soft hair between his fingers felt right. Lisa's felt all kinds of wrong. Sam's tongue ventures out to pet shyly at Dean's lips, and Dean opens up and lets him in more than willingly. He sucks on Sam's tongue and Sam hums happily. His hands splay out on Dean's back and he basically just stands there and lets Dean assault his mouth. Dean can't even help it; he was holding it together fantastically until about thirty seconds ago and now he just feels totally crazy with need. The smell of Sam's skin got to him, like it always does.

"Fuck," Sam mutters when Dean lets him up for air. "When's Bobby coming back?"

"Don't care." Dean grabs at Sam's shirt, trying to work the buttons. "He could watch for all I freakin' care."

Sam manages a startled laugh, but the hitch in his breath betrays how turned on he is. "A little eager, are we?"

"Hey, for you it's only been a few days since we've done this, but for me it's been over a year!" Dean protests, playfully poking Sam in the ribs. "I am not waiting another god damn second, now get your freakishly tall ass on the bed."

Sam laughs again. "Friggin' bossy," he mumbles, but he moves over to the bed, making a ridiculous show of stripping out of his shirt and jeans.

It definitely works on Dean, though. He's getting harder by the fuckin' second, watching the way the muscles in Sam's back move under all that tanned skin. The idiot had to go and get even _bigger_, fuck, Dean had sort of forgotten that he hadn't seen Sam naked in all this time.

Sam turns around and plops down onto the bed, and then raises an eyebrow when he catches Dean looking at him. "What?"

"You, ah – " Dean laughs unsteadily and scratches at the back of his neck. "Looks like you were hittin' the gym pretty hard while you were off the soul-train."

"Oh." Sam looks down at himself, and then flexes his shoulders a few times, testing. "Huh. Guess you're right. Don't remember that either."

Dean shakes his head in disbelief to cover the fact that he's pretty sure his feet just got cemented to the ground when Sam moved like that. It's crazy, actually, how perfect he is. Pecs bigger than Dean's hands and arms that could snap someone's neck without any effort at all and that v-cut of muscle leading down into Sam's boxers, holy hell. Dean's pretty sure it wasn't that defined the last time he saw Sam without a shirt on. He's fully hard now, and he's barely even touched Sam.

"Dude, what're you – oh." A look of dawning comprehension spreads over Sam's face, and then he holds out his hand. "C'mere. Touching's free."

Dean exhales shakily and somehow manages to force his legs to move, dropping to his knees in front of Sam and pushing his body between Sam's legs.

"You're insane," he says, smoothing his hand up Sam's abs. "Who the hell said you were allowed to be so much bigger than me?"

Sam laughs, belling rumbling under Dean's hands. "Maybe you should drag your ass out of bed in the mornings and work out with me."

Dean doesn't bother answering, just keeps tracing the outlines of Sam's stomach with his fingers. He really wants to taste, but Sam would probably never let him live that one down. It's a bit disconcerting, actually, how fast all these feelings are coming back. He never stopped loving Sam, not for a second, but after a year without him and then all those months with _not_-him, the swell of emotion stopped hitting Dean quite so hard when Sam looked at him. The burn in his chest had cooled to a dull ache. And now, it hasn't even been a whole day and Dean's right back to where he was before, when sometimes they had to get an impromptu room in the middle of a long drive because Dean had to have Sam right that second.

"Hey," Sam murmurs above Dean's head, using his knees to shake Dean a little. "You okay?

"Yeah, just …" Dean sighs and leans in to place a kiss just above Sam's bellybutton. "I just really missed you. These last few months, it was like … you were right there, but you weren't, you know? You were Sam but you weren't _my_ Sam."

Sam nods slowly, bringing one of his hands over to rest against Dean's cheek. "I can't even imagine."

Dean shrugs, but can't help turning his face into Sam's palm. "It's over now, so. Doesn't matter."

"'Course it matters. Cas told me how hard you've been fighting to get _your_ Sam back. He said we were working for Crowley, for fuck's sake, and Meg, he said something about teaming up with Meg. That's, I mean, for you to even consider working with demons again, that sounds like things were pretty bad."

Dean can't even bring himself to comment on that, all of a sudden it's too much. He buries his face into the corner where Sam's hip meets his thigh, breathing in deep breaths of Sam-scented air as he tries to reign himself back in. If he cried right now, they wouldn't even be tears of sadness, they'd be tears of relief. Relief that everything's back to normal, relief that Sammy's back. Dean really wasn't sure how much more of soulless Robo-Sam he'd have been able to take. It hurt too much to see his beautiful baby brother with no light behind his eyes.

Sam doesn't say anything for a minute, he just sits quietly and lets Dean have his tiny meltdown. And when Dean gets himself together and sits up, Sam's there, smiling at him, and somehow that makes everything okay again.

"Can we have sex now?" he jokes, eyes sparkling mischievously, and Dean barks a laugh.

"Yeah. Okay. Idiot." Dean smacks Sam's thigh lightly and then pushes his body up off the floor.

He shucks out of his own shirt and jeans, watching as Sam shifts backwards on the bed until his head reaches the pillows. Dean reaches down and tugs at Sam's boxers until he can get them past Sam's hips and then off. _Damn_. He's just as gorgeous as he always was. Dean's chest both swells and constricts at the same time. He pushes his underwear off too and then crawls up Sam's body, kissing and nipping at the smooth expanses of skin as he goes. Sam makes these beautiful little broken gasps every time Dean's lips touch his skin, and by the time Dean reaches his mouth, Sam's all bleary-eyed and messed up looking. He grabs Dean's face and kisses him, hard, and then whispers "C'mon" against Dean's swollen lips.

"Not feelin' the foreplay?" Dean quips softly, nipping gently at Sam's jaw.

"Been waiting a year and a half," Sam answers, smiling playfully. "Don't wanna wait anymore."

Dean huffs and ruffles Sam's hair. "Hilarious."

"Just puttin' your needs first, big brother."

"Yeah, yeah. You're a friggin' saint." Dean smiles warmly in spite of himself, and dips back in to lick at Sam's lips. "I, uh, I don't have any lube. I wasn't exactly expecting to jump right back into bed with you."

Sam shakes his head a little. "S'okay. Don't need it. Just, slow, okay?"

"Yeah, course I will," Dean promises.

He brings a hand up and touches the tips of two of his fingers to Sam's lips, and Sam sucks them into his mouth, licking and sucking obscenely. The little fucker. He knows exactly what that does to Dean.

"Oh!" Dean cries, suddenly remembering. "I've got Burke's, that would work better than spit."

"Wa-ah-ee," Sam mumbles, attempting to talk around the fingers that are still in his mouth.

Dean grins and pulls his hand back.

"Probably," Sam clarifies, grinning back and wiping spit from his lips with the back of his hand.

Dean gives him an affectionate swat, and then gets the little bottle of gun oil from his bag. He pours a small amount onto the tip of his index finger and rubs it around with his thumb, testing it.

"Seems slippery enough," he says, moving back to the bed and settling between Sam's legs.

"Good. Now hurry up, we might not have much time."

Dean bends down and kisses Sam, sloppily and a little desperate but still pretty damn perfect. He mutters "Pushy" against Sam's lips, but then he pours a little more of the pine-scented oil into his fingers, makes sure they're coated, and teases just the pad of his index finger against the little opening. Then he pushes in, just to the first knuckle. Sam's breath hitches, but he doesn't tense up, so Dean goes in the rest of the way, slowly working his finger all the way in, and then adding another one. Sam whimpers a little when Dean tries to spread his fingers apart, and it takes every bit of self control Dean possesses to remind himself that he promised he'd go slow. It has been a long time, after all, whether or not it feels that way in Sam's head.

"'M'okay, Dean. Keep going," Sam mumbles, eyes flickering shut as the tip of Dean's finger finds his prostate.

Dean reaches his other hand down to smooth his palm up the heavy erection lying against Sam's stomach. Sam moans and tosses his head around on the pillow, and Dean smiles triumphantly. He digs his thumb into that spot just under the head that always used to drive Sam crazy and – yep, still does. Then he circles his fingers around the hot shaft and jerks Sam, slowly but firmly. Sam moans again, effectively distracted enough that he doesn't even seem to notice when Dean slips a third finger in. Dean lets his fingers drag in and out of Sam for another few minutes, simultaneously working his cock enough to keep him interested but not enough to come. Dean hits the right spot inside Sam again, and Sam arches off the bed beautifully, then collapses back down onto it, looking so mussed up and fucked out that Dean's whole body clenches and his cock spurts out a generous amount of precome even though nothing's even touched it yet.

"Now, Dean," Sam mumbles, reaching out and then letting his hand fall back onto his stomach when his fingers don't find anything to hold on to.

"Kay," Dean whispers. He pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the bedspread, grimacing a little when he realizes he just _wiped his fingers on Bobby's bedspread_. That's kinda gross. Actually, it's a lot gross. As Dean reaches behind himself for the bottle, he makes a mental note to offer to do the laundry before they leave.

He pours a generous amount of the oil onto his palm and smears it over his cock, hissing at even his own touch. He's so turned on and so damn happy to have Sam back, Dean knows this isn't gonna last long. And judging from the way Sam looks right now, he's not gonna be alone on that. He reaches out to grab one of Sam's legs, throwing it over his shoulder and then kissing Sam again. He flicks his tongue out, just a little, just to taste, and then Dean lines himself up and pushes into Sam's warm body, slowly but fluidly. Sam gasps, sucking shared air right out of Dean's mouth.

"Sorry, sorry," Dean mutters, holding still for a minute to let Sam adjust. "You okay?"

"I'm okay, I'm okay, don't stop," Sam babbles, rocking down on Dean's dick, as best he can from his position.

Dean smoothes the hair off Sam's forehead and then slides the rest of the way in, surprisingly easy, considering how long it's been since the last time. And sweet mother of _fuck_, it's so good. Dean rocks shallowly a few times, gauging Sam's reaction, and when Sam lets out a groan that would rival a pornstar, Dean starts moving faster. Shit, yeah. He pounds in as deeply as he can, and when he hits that spot Sam cries out and clenches around him and Dean can't even think straight anymore. Scorching hot and tight and slippery and Dean's seeing stars, actual stars behind his eyes like this was the first freakin' time or something.

Although, in a way, it kind of is.

"Dean, _Dean_, fuck, so good," Sam moans, sliding a hand between their bodies so he can tug at his ignored erection.

"Yeah," Dean breathes, driving in a little harder, little faster, finding an insanely good rhythm that's going to throw him over the edge any second now even though this has got to be the world's shortest fuck. "So fuckin' hot, Sammy. Missed you so much."

"Missed you too." Sam reaches behind himself and grabs the headboard. He's got a little more leverage now and he presses his body down, meeting Dean's thrusts. "Gonna come, big brother."

_Fuck_. That does it for Dean; his vision goes all shiny and silver as he bursts like a firework. His entire body feels like it's in a sauna and his dick twitches inside Sam, painting Sam's insides with his release, claiming him. _Re_claiming him. Dean's vaguely aware of the soft walls tightening around him and of something hot hitting his stomach, but mostly all he can focus on are the happy little tremors shooting through his body as he rocks slowly into Sam. A few more lazy, shallow thrusts and then Dean's pulling out and falling hard onto Sam's chest, panting into Sam's neck.

"Fuck," Dean breathes. "That was crazy hot, Sammy."

"Mhm. Except now it smells like come and Christmas trees in here," Sam laughs shakily, his chest heaving under Dean's.

Dean laughs back. "Remind me to get lube. Or at least unscented gun oil."

Sam hums his agreement, rubbing his hand lovingly up and down Dean's sweat-dappled back. For a few minutes, Dean just breathes Sam in and basks in a ridiculously comfortable post-orgasm haze, mixed up with delirious happiness to have Sammy here with him. Real and whole and the little brother Dean remembers.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam murmurs.

"Yeah?"

"I meant it. When I said I missed you."

"You don't remember anything," Dean says, between kissing and licking lazily at Sam's neck.

"I know. But there's … I don't know, there's something. I can't remember time, but I remember having this feeling I can't really explain. Like, something was wrong, something was … missing."

Dean pushes up onto one elbow so he can see Sam's eyes. "You're not supposed to go poking around in there. Death said so, he said to just ignore those things if you want to keep the wall up."

Sam nods. "Okay. I won't. But, just, wanted you to know that. There is _something_ there. And if I felt like something was missing, that's probably you."

There's a half-confused-half-determined look on Sam's face, like he's still unsure but he definitely means what he's saying. Dean can't help smiling and kissing him again.

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**This was the most frustrating 4000-ish words I have ever written, just FYI. This one fought back, a lot. *shakes fist menacingly* **


End file.
